


Another Week

by DustToDust



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-10 07:31:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4382807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustToDust/pseuds/DustToDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unrelated drabbles for Hawksilver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> [Monday: Angst](http://hawksilverweek.tumblr.com/)

Pietro prides himself on being fast. It's what he took from the labs, the power they instilled in him and that he's made his own. He doesn't have much to be proud of, but he'll take it. Fast isn't just something he does though. In his fight to gain control of his ability Pietro has made fast something he _is_. 

Pietro is fast, he is speed itself, and there is nothing that can stand in his way if he doesn't want it to.

All his power and all his speed do nothing at all though when he hesitates and second guesses himself. He watches, helpless to do anything even as he's halfway down the street, as Hawkeye's body jerks. The impact of the bullets moving his body even as he curls around the boy he found. Blood blooming bright and red even before Pietro reaches him. Catching his body as it slumps forward and the boy cries out in pain.

Alive, but that's not what Pietro's eyes are focused on. Hawkeye looks back at him. Blood leaks from his mouth and his face is twisted in pain, but his eyes are calm. Peaceful, accepting. It's horrifying in a way that Pietro can't even comprehend even as he shakes his head.

"It's ok," Hawkeye chokes out, a level of understanding in those words that numb Pietro even as the brilliant eyes start to dim. "It's- You'll be fine. Eventually."

Hawkeye dies quickly, and Pietro feels the blood coating his hands red only after the Captain takes the boy from him. The man's body is heavy, his word weigh heavier still though, and Pietro feels it's important to carry the man himself. His words echoing in his mind with an odd resonance that shouldn't be possible for someone Pietro saw as an enemy for longer than he's known him.

But there's hardly any time at all to think about it as he goes back to the fight. Goes back to Wanda. His hands red with blood not his own, and the echoes of some really shitty final words burning painfully in his mind.


	2. Second Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Tuesday: Fairytales.](http://hawksilverweek.tumblr.com/)

"I am here, what are your other two wishes?" The white-haired genie asks with a smug smirk after taking a way too long and obvious body check. A check that came out favorably given the highly inappropriate tone used on that terrible line.

Any other day, no, _year_ and Clint might've given one right back. The genie is almost fae in appearance and he's always been weak to anyone from either court.

"Shut up," Clint grunts out because he's in no mood at all to deal with this. Hasn't been in the mood for much of anything for far too long really. He sways a little when he turns. The journey has been long and hard, but he's here now in the Iron Temple.

The lamp he keeps tight hold of burns bright red with the contained rage of the protective demon he'd had to fight to pull out the genie. The bitch had gotten him good and Clint knows that if he doesn't stop soon to tend to his wounds he won't last long. Good thing he doesn't need to worry about living much longer.

Clint doesn't drop the lamp as he bends down to pick up the silk covered form he'd carefully laid down before the battle. The move pulls at his wounds and he hisses as he straightens. Taking care with the limp body safely hidden away in the enscrolled sheets. He can't see her through it, but Clint doesn't need to see to know the face of his own daughter. 

He's spent his whole life holding onto her and protecting her. Carefully brushing her unruly red hair, and smiling into her pixie face as she smiled in wonder at the world around them in rare moments of unguarded joy. His Tasha had always been older than her years though. The gifted blood from her Seelie mother making her otherworldy to him at times, but he's never loved her less for it. Not even when the priests came and demanded he give her up in sacrifice.

The grin is gone from the genie when Clint turns around. His face is blank now, devoid of anything as he watches Clint limp forward. His voice is thick with ancient tongues Clint can't begin to name, but his words echo with faint regret that is clear, "I cannot give life to the dead."

"I don't want that," Clint sighs as he climbs up the small set of stairs to the broken altar. He lays his little girl down, one trembling hand smoothing over the silk. Right over the spot he knows her heart used to be before the mob had beaten him down and ripped her from him. "My daughter deserves better than this world can ever give her. My first wish, genie, is for you to reincarnate her."

The genie's eyes glow a subtle blue as he appears on the other side of the altar. He's studying Clint again, but this look is more contemplative than before. "That I can do, but she would only come back to this world."

"Well, good thing I got two more wishes," Clint's not an idiot. He's done his research, and he's got a plan. He might have only been a huntsman, but Clint's always been pretty good when it comes to those. "My second wish is for you to reincarnate her in another realm."

Clint deliberately leaves off requesting a specific one. Other realms are too nebulous, and if he were to ask for one that no longer exists the genie would be bound to follow his request regardless. He doesn't worry overmuch as it is, there's a quiet sympathy in the being's eyes. Genuine in a way he hasn't seen in too long. 

"That I can do as well," a long fingered hand spiders out over the silk, and Clint has to resist the urge to remove it. The lamp begins to vibrate in his grip and keeping hold of it helps. "I will need her help. You've won already, you can let her go."

His first instinct is to flat out deny the request. He paid in blood and flesh to best that fire-breathing demon and knows he doesn't have enough left in him to do it a second time. Clint reluctantly peels his fingers away from the lamp though. His touch is all that keeps the demon locked away, but the scholars he'd consulted about the temple were clear that the genie would not lie to him. That it will not allow any harm come to him until his third wish is made.

The demon pours out of the lamp in a haze of red smoke that doesn't smell as foul as he'd expect it too. When she takes solid form again Clint's surprised.

Gone is the towering demon made of fire and blackened rock. More edges and searing heat than anything his mind could describe outside of the fact that fighting her hurt. What he's left with now is a woman who, much like the genie, would appear human in every aspect except for the soft red glow of power that suffuses her. The look she turns on Clint is surprisingly free of malice.

" _We_ are the ones bound to grant the wishes of any who prove themselves worthy," she says in a soft voice that matches the man's, and Clint realizes now why none of those he'd consulted had been able to agree on the gender of the genie or the demon. She sweeps her hand over to place over the man's hand, and the combination of their energy gives the silk a purple glow. "You have proven yourself worthy with both your actions and intentions. What is your final wish?"

Clint swallows and nearly closes his eyes against the knowing look the woman is giving him. He doesn't hesitate though when he says, "My third wish is to reincarnate with her."

"You will be born on the same day, in the same realm, and that is all we can do," the woman says like a warning. A warning Clint is already aware of. Being born on the same day is really more than he was hoping for though. He'd been warned that centuries could pass. "And in order to reincarnate..."

"You must die," the man finishes when she trails off. His lips are pursed tightly like he wants to say something else, but he doesn't.

"Yeah," Clint says into the silence that follows and looks down at his child. He smoothes a wrinkle that isn't there anymore and thinks about how she'll get the chance to grow into a woman. Something that he will most likely miss seeing.

The pang of pain is brief and bittersweet. He knows what he is asking for, and that he will not know to look for her. That he will not remember his own daughter even if they were to meet again. It's a bearable thought though for the chance to give her a better life than the one she had here. 

A halfling child born to a man who lived in near seclusion. Sequestered away from a world that would only see her worth in the favor to be gained from giving her heart to a careless god.

Anything would be better than that.

Clint leans down and brushes his lips over Tasha's covered forehead and then drops his hand down to the dagger at his belt. He'll bleed out within the hour, but Clint doesn't have the kind of patience to sit down and wait. His death will give them both new life.

The blade is cold across his neck, but the blood that flows out is burning hot. Hands catch him as he staggers back and Clint chokes as glowing blue eyes watch him die. Words he can't understand following him as death comes fast.

~

The human had been aching and raw when he walked in. The trials falling before him with ease that did nothing to hide the desperation that suffused his soul. It had been clear to her that the man was broken and willing to do anything to fix himself. She wonders if it was that or his raw edges that made her brother fall so easily, or if it was something else that she wasn't allowed to see.

Because he has fallen. Hard and fast. She sees it when he looks up from his examination of the human's body. Sees the determination to do something rash and potentially ill thought out.

She smiles at the only being she has known her whole life and thinks it doesn't matter. "No priest has sung hymns here for centuries. I doubt any will come to worship a forgotten religion either. No one can fault us for abandoning our post."

"Let them fault," her brother says as he drops the body and gathers the glowing soul from the human. It pulses with a beautiful range of color and emotion that is enchanting, and she can begin to see why he chose this one after only a single look. "We will go where their judgement cannot touch us."

"A new beginning," she carefully pulls on the soul of the girl. It's wandered despite the wardings holding both it and the body in stasis. It's warm and pulsing with an answering array of colors to the man. Their attachment clear in the beautiful simplicity of the display. "A few thousand years late."

"The ancient gods could have expected nothing less," he smiles widely. There and gone so fast she almost doesn't realize how long it has been since she last saw it. How long it has been since they spoke actual words to each other. Despite existing in the same space in their anchor point, sleeping between trials has been all they've done for far too long. "Let us see how this new world of their's has turned out."

He cups the human's soul in careful hands. Eyes taking in the sight and feel of it. Impressing the soul deeply into himself so he will need no memory to recognize it because no gods truly exist where they are taking these souls. No true gods or godly creatures around to dictate and limit the growth of the souls brought there. They will be allowed in, but the price of that entrance will be steep.

"Do you think we will get names?" She asks curiously as the little one flutters in her hands. Pressing against the cage of fingers in ways that are testing and methodical.

"All mortals are named," he says simply and steps backwards. Following a faint trail left behind for any with the power and determination to follow. "And renamed if necessary. Are you coming, sister?"

She smiles and follows behind until she can step beside him. Transporting their charges and leaving the world they were created for without hesitation. The enticement of a name almost as compelling a reason to leave for her as the slowly spinning soul in her brother's hands is for him.

~

Tasha makes a soft sound. Faint enough to go unnoticed but Clint's made a habit of learning every tell she has, and the unconsciously slipped sound is enough to make him jerk up from the exhausted sleep he'd been uneasily drifting in. 

He looks at her first to assess what the danger is, but Tasha is fine and she's not looking at him despite being nearly on top of him on the seats of the quinjet. He follows her gaze down to the floor and feels something inside of him freeze stiff before uncurling at the sight of Wanda crouched over her brother.

Blindingly white teeth streaked with blood flash up at him as Pietro's unnervingly bright eyes focus slowly on him and away from the red glow of light flowing from Wanda into her brother. He doesn't repeat that damned line Clint's already sick and tired of, but what he does say isn't all that much better. "I'm here, what are your other two wishes?"

"For you to go away and then stay away," Clint grits out and it feels like he's been swallowing sand for days. Tasha props him up when he pushes himself unsteadily into sitting. The world spins a bit around him and he has to close his eyes and groan. Taking comfort in Tasha's warm solidity supporting him before looking back down at the smirking _asshole_ who isn't dead.

Thank fuck.

"Good thing I'm not a genie then," Pietro laughs despite how much it looks like doing so hurts, and hisses when Wanda purses her lips in brief anger. "In fact, I think I am a, hm, _anti_ -genie. I'll have to do everything in my power to _not_ fulfill those wishes."

"Aw, crap," Clint sighs to Tasha, feeling warmed at the amusement hidden in her eyes. "Figures I'd get stuck with the broken genie."

Wanda laughs. Loud and more than a little shaky, but the sound dispels the grim tension in the air. Clint closes his eyes and drifts. Floating above the pain and exhaustion on a raft of Tasha's soothing presence and the bickering of the twins as Pietro insists he's perfectly fine.

Things are going to be fine. Clint can feel it in his bones in a way he doesn't think he ever has before.


	3. Lips

“You have such a pretty little mouth,” the man says, a calloused thumb tracing Pietro’s lower lip in a way that is both filthy and one of the hottest things Pietro has experienced in a good long while. It almost wipes away the annoyance he feels towards him. Almost.

He’d known the man was going to be worth his time from the moment he’d seen him. Eyes steady and locked on Pietro from across the bar. Not even trying to play it off when he saw Pietro had caught him staring. He’d just raised his glass up in a playful salute that match his grin. A grin that had gotten more knowing and smug when Pietro tried to play it cool and continued to chat up the pretty thing he’d been flirting with for the past hour.

Pietro won’t lie and say that hadn’t been more than a little annoyed over it. Something that showed as his attention on the man he was talking to got diverted. It wasn’t long before he found himself alone at the bar with an empty bottle, and those eyes laughing at him.

Stubbornness had fueled Pietro through another bottle but it’d been anger, and no small amount of attraction, that had pushed him over to where the man leaned against the bar. Waiting patiently and giving off the impression that he was thoroughly amused by Pietro’s stalling.

Pietro rewards the man’s opening line and his arrogance with a sharp bite to the meaty pad of his thumb and a quick flick of his tongue along it. He smirks back and lets his annoyance meld with his attraction. “Pity you won’t see it after I have you bent over.”

In the dim lighting of the bar, it’s usually hard see detail in eyes, but the man’s eyes are a light color so vivid that it’s easy to see the way his pupils dilate. Pietro almost swears he can feel the man’s pulse pick up through the thumb still pressed over his lower lip. “Now, don’t go promising things you can’t deliver on.”

It’s a question more than anything, but Pietro decides to take it as a challenge. He lets himself grin. Slow and wide enough that the man’s thumb is pressing against his teeth. The trip out of the bar is a blur of too many bodies and a strong hand that makes Pietro wonder if it might be possible to get more than one night out of this man.


End file.
